


Healing Grief

by BrynTWedge



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Body Positivity, Character Death happens before the start, Comforting, Grief, M/M, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 03:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14844512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrynTWedge/pseuds/BrynTWedge
Summary: In the wake of Mycroft's death, Greg realises that he's missed his chance to start anything with the elder Holmes... but he isn't going to let that chance slip by again with the man that has been there for him most.





	Healing Grief

Greg sat with his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands, in a lonesome chair in St Bart’s morgue. He didn’t know what to do with himself. Mycroft was gone. He’d always felt something for the man, but had always been too afraid to do anything about it. Not because he was afraid of _him_ , no… he was scared of ruining whatever friendship they’d forged. Mycroft had confused him endlessly; occasionally he’d look like he was enjoying himself in Greg’s company, sometimes things said could have had a deeper meaning, and sometimes Mycroft was so detached and distant Greg had to wonder if the omnipotent elder Holmes honestly wanted nothing to do with him.   
Greg sighed. There wasn’t a point in wondering if he’d missed his chance to have something. It’d only serve to drive him crazy. While he might have been longing for a relationship, Mycroft had always been hesitant to get too close to anyone. Greg had often wondered what had happened in the man’s past to make him so afraid of making connections with people.   
_I guess I’ll never know now_. 

Footsteps resounded down the empty corridor. Briefly he wondered if it was Sherlock — but then he remembered that John had taken him home.  
_Fuck, Sherlock… poor bugger doesn’t know how to cope with grief._   
Greg closed his eyes, hidden beneath his hands, as he let the emotions roll off him. Even if they hadn’t had a thing together, Greg cared a lot about Mycroft. They’d been friends for many years, and known each other even longer. He jumped when he felt the hand placed upon his shoulder. He looked up to see the warm, pained smile of Mike Stamford.   
“Is it alright if I sit with you?”   
Greg nodded, watching Mike take the seat beside him. He’d known Mike for many years as well. They’d catch up occasionally, not as often as either of them would like, but their jobs prevented much more. Greg then registered that Mike’s hand hadn’t left his back. It was too warm and comforting for him to object.   
“I can’t believe he’s gone,” he uttered quietly.   
“I know you were fairly close.” Mike didn’t need to phrase it as a question. He’d listened to Greg talk of Sherlock’s brother often enough to know that Greg thought highly of Mycroft, and even liked him a little more than a friend.   
“I can’t understand it,” Greg mumbled, his voice breaking.   
“Oh, pet, it’s alright,” Mike said softly, embracing him in a hug. “I’m here, alright?  
Greg nodded, allowing himself to be held. “You were always so kind, Mike,” he sniffled.   
“I do my best,” Mike admitted, rubbing Greg’s arm up and down. “What else is there to do?”  
“If only there were more people like you out there. My job wouldn’t be so stressful, then,” he said into Mike’s soft chest. “I keep thinking if he had that, then maybe—”  
“Don’t, Greg,” Mike scolded gently. “Don’t think like that. You can’t. You’ll just twist yourself up into a mess that you won’t get out of.”   
Greg nodded silently. Anderson was evidence of that, given what happened following Sherlock’s suicide. He let himself cry more, his mind blissfully dulled of thoughts. Once he had settled, he felt Mike pull away slowly. He sat up and rubbed his face quickly. “Sorry,” he mumbled, embarrassed.  
“Don’t be sorry. You’re allowed to grieve, Greg. Look, I’m headed home now. I would love it if you came with me.”  
“Pretty shitty time to proposition me, mate,” Greg grumbled.   
“No!” Mike exclaimed, shocked. “No, no, I didn’t… I’d never… I mean, you’re—”  
“Relax, I was only poking fun, mostly,” Greg interrupted, casting a glance in Mike’s direction. He saw how distressed his friend had gotten at the insinuation. “Sorry.”   
“I just don’t think you should be alone tonight. I’m worried about you, Greg, and I want to try help. I’m not about to try make a pass at you when you’re this vulnerable. Hell, I wouldn’t try making a pass at you full stop.”   
Greg frowned, still looking at Mike’s flushed cheeks and unsettled demeanour. “You wouldn’t? I mean I get it,” he said, “I’m not exactly the ideal partner.”  
“What? No, I wouldn’t because… well, look at me,” Mike derided, chuckling uncomfortably, “and you’re stunning. But, that’s off topic, because you need a friend now. I don’t think you’re in a place to start anything like that with anyone.”   
Greg shook his head, his body weary. He really didn’t have it in him to argue the point any longer. “Alright, I’ll go with you. You’re right. Maybe ask me in a month or two, see how we go.”   
“Greg, I—”  
Greg cut Mike off by standing and walking away. He heard the man get up and follow, mumbling that he never asked in the first place. 

~

Sherlock wan’t the same after Mycroft’s death. As much as Greg saw him trying to get back to ‘normal’, he never really got there. Greg admitted he wasn’t the same anymore either. Occasionally he’d see a black car drive along, and his heart would leap, before remembering that it couldn’t be him. 

He walked back from Baker Street, melancholic. It was a dreary day, having rained on and off all week. People with umbrellas swarmed around him, and it made his heart contract in the same painful way as it had often since that day. He stopped before a large puddle in the street, gazing down at his reflection. He didn’t look that different, not really. Mike had been taking care of him, which he was extremely grateful for. It was just unfortunate that his friend shared the same name as the elder Holmes — Greg often called Mycroft ‘Myc’ in his head, and had slipped into doing so in the last two years of their friendship when out socially.   
“Oh, Myc,” he groaned to his reflection, “if only you could see the gap you left behind.” He looked around sadly, still seeing the umbrellas and black cars. He decided to turn, and head towards the cemetery. 

He strolled past the gravestones until he found the one he was looking for. It was in the same area as Sherlock’s used to be; Greg guessed it was a Holmes Family plot or something. He couldn’t deny it was a lovely spot to rest. He ran his fingers along the cold marble. Mycroft had chosen white marble instead of the black like Sherlock’s, and it was fitting. There was just his name and the dates, which made it all seem final to Greg — he hadn’t realised how Sherlock’s headstone didn’t have the dates on it, and that it was oddly comforting that way, as if he wasn’t really gone. 

“Hey, Myc,” he uttered quietly. “Sherlock still isn’t coping well. John’s doing his best, but it’s really shaken him.”   
He swallowed the lump in his throat. “It’s been hard to adjust for all of us. I wouldn’t be in much shape without Mike looking out for me. I know you never wanted him to join us for our catch ups… but I like to think it was because you were jealous of sharing me rather than you not liking him. Well, I guess you did like him, a little. Enough to let him interact with Sherlock, at least.”   
Greg closed his eyes, remembering some of their interactions over dinner many years ago. Back at the start, Mike had only been someone he’d chatted with in passing at St Bart’s, because of a case. Then Sherlock wanted to get involved in experiments, and so he’d gone to Mike asking about it. Since then, they’d bonded as unlikely friends over the mad genius. Mycroft had appeared in both of their lives around the same time, kidnapping Mike only a couple months after he’d kidnapped Greg. He smiled fondly at the memories.   
“I don’t think I’m going to miss being kidnapped at random points in time,” he said softly. “Still, if I could see you again I would willingly step into that car.” 

Greg shuffled his feet. “Myc,” he started, looking the ground, “I don’t know if you knew I liked you, that way, or if you felt the same… but I think I have to let go now. It’s… it hurts, Myc, to still feel the loneliness and want you to take that away, and knowing that you’re not there anymore. I just wanted to tell you so you knew. I’ll always miss you, but I don’t want to be alone anymore. Losing you… it’s… it’s made me see that I can sit and wait until the chance slips me by.”   
Greg looked at the tombstone with glistening eyes. He knelt, sat on the ground, and reached out to run his fingers along the carved letters. “It would have been nice,” he whispered, “if it could have been you.” 

Greg didn’t know how long he was sitting there, looking at the grave. He had been running things around in his head, trying to sort through the pain, trying to find a way to move on. He didn’t notice when it started to drizzle, nor that the sunlight began to fade. He only came to awareness again at the sound of a familiar voice.   
“I thought I’d find you here,” Mike said, standing over him. “Are you alright, pet?”  
Greg looked up at the ever-caring face of Mike Stamford. He grimaced, but nodded.   
“Come on, up you get, let’s get you off the wet ground, eh?”   
He allowed Mike to help him to his feet, and hold him in a hug. “I needed to talk to him.”  
“That’s alright, Greg. I just wish you’d told me where you were or answered your phone, I was worried.”   
Greg cocked his head to the side, and then drew out his mobile. Three missed calls from Mike, plus a text message. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even notice…” Greg trailed off, his eyes wandering back to Mycroft’s grave.   
“I understand, pet. Now, let’s get you back home and into something dry or you’ll get sick.”   
Mike carefully guided Greg away from the headstone and towards the exit. He hadn’t been aware that he was damp, or that it was starting to get cold. He must have really been out of it, he thought. He followed Mike closely, out of the cemetery and back to his flat. 

Mike fixed him some hot tea, knowing Greg’s flat inside-out by this stage, and set it down on the coffee table. Greg took it, holding it close to warm up. He’d been shivering by the time they’d gotten back there.  
“You need to shower and get into some dry clothes, Greg,” Mike said gently.   
“Always taking care of me,” he responded with a smile. “I wonder what I did to deserve it, sometimes.”   
“I care about you, pet,” Mike answered, sitting himself on the sofa.   
Greg didn’t know what to say. Instead, he took a mouthful of tea and then got up to shower. He stopped in the doorway to his bedroom, and looked out to Mike. He suddenly wondered something. “Why?”   
“You’re a good man, and deserve care,” Mike answered sincerely.   
Greg pursed his lips, wondering if he’d asked the wrong question. He said nothing as he stripped and showered, enjoying the warm water heat his skin. 

When he emerged, he was glad to find Mike still on his sofa. He padded over and sat next to him, closer than he had previously. “Do you want to ask me?” Greg asked, and Mike just gave him a confused look.   
“Ask you what?”  
“Back in the morgue, you said that you didn’t proposition me. I said maybe in a month or two.”   
“Greg, you were hardly in a good place,” Mike chuckled uncomfortably.   
“I know. That why I asked _do_ you want to, not if you _did_. You wouldn’t have made a move then. I’m asking if you want to now.”   
Mike looked into Greg’s eyes for a few moments, trying to discern the meaning behind his words. He swallowed nervously before answering. “If you’re worried about me making our friendship uncomfortable, Greg, I assure you I won’t. I respect you and your feelings.”  
“That’s not what I asked,” Greg pushed, moving closer to Mike. He was overcome with emotion, and he wondered what it was and why it hadn’t been there before. He’d felt affection, sure, but it hadn’t been the same. Before Mycroft — well, it was just a sense of friendship and companionship. After, once he’d felt things other than grief, he’d still felt affection for the man but it was laced with something more. That something had always been dulled by the loss, and somehow, by saying what he had to Mycroft today, he had let himself feel what it was. Attraction.   
“Greg,” Mike breathed, “I’d never let my feelings stand in the way of giving you the friendship you need.”   
“So you have feelings for me?”   
Greg watched as Mike’s round face flushed red, and his eyes looked down.  
 _Yes, then. Perfect.  
_ “I won’t act on them, I promise.”   
He frowned, confused. “Why?”  
“Because… I don’t want to lose you as a friend just because I made it awkward. I know you could never go for someone like me, and I accept that. I just don’t—”  
“Whoa,” Greg snapped, “why wouldn’t I? Go for someone like you, that is?”  
“Greg, look at me.”   
“I am… Mike, if you’re using your weight as reason why you’re not good enough for me… you have it wrong.”   
“What? Greg, I know you’re kind and wonderful, but you don’t have to do that. It’s ok. I’ve spent most of my life knowing that people just don’t want me that way. It’s just how it is.”  
Greg huffed, and stood up. He started to pace at Mike’s feet. “Ok, this isn’t where I was going with this,” he admitted, “but I need to clear something up. I don’t give a flying fuck what you weigh, Mike. The bits that are important in a person is their heart, their soul, and their mind. You’ve got gold in all three. I’m just… I’m so _angry_ right now that shallow arseholes have been so cruel to you for so long in your life that you not only believe them, but accept it as the obvious normal. I’ll tell you something right now. The worst humanity has to offer has nothing to do with what they weigh, and so you can believe it works the other way around as well. The people I see in my job are the bottom of the barrel, and what puts them there is who they are, not what they look like. The people who are the most wonderful are also deemed that based on who they are, not what they look like. If anyone chooses a relationship based solely on appearance, that says they aren’t worth your time. Myc—” Greg’s voice hitched, and he found himself having to stop pacing and take a few deep breaths. “Mycroft always hated his weight, too, you know. He was chubby as a kid and the torment he got from just that was enough to give him an eating disorder for the rest of his life. Fuck, I wish I could have told him that I thought he was gorgeous, and that it wouldn’t have mattered if he put on weight cause he’d still be gorgeous. So I’m telling you now, Mike Stamford. You are handsome and amazing. I would be honoured to be wanted by someone so kind and generous, let alone so talented. Yeah, I probably am still dealing with Mycroft’s loss, and yeah, it probably wouldn’t be smart to start anything up now, but I don’t give a damn. I like you, Mike, and if you like me too, then I want to be with you.”   


Greg looked directly at Mike. His heart was racing and it was a challenge to keep his breathing somewhat even. The man before him blinked, absorbing the information. Eventually, he broke out into a smile.   
“I want to be with you too,” Mike uttered, reaching his hands out for Greg to take. He took them gladly, the firmness grounding him to the moment. He didn’t know where he was headed, but for the first time since… he was looking forward to finding out. 


End file.
